


Love All of Me

by Kats_watermelon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kats_watermelon/pseuds/Kats_watermelon
Summary: Murphy met a girl outside a bar on a night like any other. The love came later.





	Love All of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernalandmortal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalandmortal/gifts).



> This is the fic I wrote for infernalandmortal for the Delinquent Fic Exchange. Hope you all like it!

It started on a cold night in November, outside a bar.

 

Murphy blew a puff of smoke out of his mouth, watching the grey cloud dissipate into the night. The music pulsed behind him and he imagined that he could feel the bricks shaking with the sound of it. He sighed and inhaled another drag of smoke, blowing it out slowly.

“Hey there, stranger,” a voice called out to him. A young woman leaned against the wall next to him, a smirk twisting her lips. Murphy let his eyes wander over her. She was pretty, with brown hair, sharp brown eyes, and leather jacket.

“Hey.” He took another long drag.

“What’re you smoking?”

“You want some?” Murphy asked, offering the joint to the girl. She took it and inhaled slowly. She blew the smoke out, nodding a little.

“Nice. You waiting for someone?”

“No,” Murphy said, taking the joint back and another hit. “Just watching the stars.”

The girl tipped her head back to squint at the tiny specks of light barely visible past the pollution of the city.

“Can’t really see them,” she said. “I’m Emori, by the way.”

“I’m John Murphy, but most everyone just calls me Murphy.”

“John,” Emori said, seeming to test out the word in her mouth. She smiled. “I like it.”

Murphy turned his face away to hide the flush rising in his cheeks.

The two of them stood there talking and smoking until they had nothing left to smoke. Murphy was pretty high at that point, but he could still focus on Emori’s face. She had a nice face, he thought absently. Dark, wide eyes and soft lips.

They were even softer when she pressed them to his, soft and warm. His arms slid around her waist and she fit into him almost perfectly. When she pulled back, she smirked at him and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Murphy followed her, her hand hanging onto his, as she pulled him along. The moon winked at the two of them between buildings as they wove through the streets.

Emori stopped at an apartment building, hesitating just long enough to unlock the door and head inside. Murphy followed her up a flight of creaking, questionably stable stairs to a hallway with stained green carpet. She grabbed her keys and shuffled through them when they reached the door labeled 2F. Murphy’s lips found her neck and she laughed a little, finding the correct key and throwing the door open.

Murphy quickly pushed her into the apartment and shoved the door shut behind him. His mouth found hers and they crashed together, hands tugging at hair and clothes. Murphy wasn’t sure when they made it into the bedroom but it wasn’t long before Emori’s jacket and shirt had been shed and he was kissing his way down her stomach.

He stopped at the edge of her jeans and moved back up to kiss her lips. He noticed that the heavy gloves she’d been wearing were still on and gently took her right wrist, pulling the first glove off. She moved her left hand away from him, though, when he tried to do the same to it. He frowned.

“Everything okay?”

Emori hesitated.

“I don’t want to take it off,” she finally said. Murphy propped himself up on his arms, hovering over her.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Murphy smirked.

“Trust me, if you knew me more, you’d know that I’m not the kind of guy to care.”

He took her left wrist, gently turning it over so that the palm was facing upwards and tugged the glove off gently. Emori averted her eyes quickly the second the covering was gone. Murphy turned over her hand, studying the fused-together fingers and the pinky that was missing.

“Badass,” he said. Emori’s eyes snapped to him, disbelief coloring her expression. Murphy laughed, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and set her hand down. He went back to trailing kisses down her body, smiling when her fingers wound into his hair.

She fell asleep not long after, with Murphy awake a little while longer, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t had a one-night stand in a while. But the more he thought about Emori and her smile, her laugh, the way she said his name, the more he didn’t want it to be just a one-night stand.

 

He saw Emori again.

Not because he tried to, no. He saw her again because she found him again.

“Hey there, stranger,” a familiar voice said. Murphy whipped around and saw Emori standing behind him with a smile. She was wearing the same leather jacket with her hands stuffed in the pockets.

“Emori?” he asked, incredulous. It had been a week since they met outside the bar, yet here she was, looking the same as she had that night. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile morphed into smirk.

“Same as you, John.” She gestured at the bartender. “Ordering a drink.”

Murphy watched as she plopped herself down next to him and ordered a shot of whiskey for both of them. His lips twitched into a smile when she started ranting to him about her son-of-a-bitch boss and the amount of crap that spilled from the man’s mouth every day. He, in turn, told her about his job and the assholes that worked there. She laughed at his stories and he relished in how her whole face lit up when she did.

They went back to his apartment that night, drunken kisses landing on collarbones and hips and hair. Emori carved herself a place in Murphy’s heart, all soft smiles and rough kisses and heavenly laughs.

He got her number that night, and found himself texting it when he was bored, sending her pictures of his boring day or annoying coworkers. She’d respond with the most recent shit that her boss said as well as snapshots of the increasingly bored coworkers around her.

Their first real date (at least according to how “normal” dates worked) was three weeks after they met. They went to a dumb movie and ended up making out in the back of the theater. That night Emori fell asleep at his apartment while he traced constellations in the freckles on her shoulders.

There was no way to judge just how hard Murphy had fallen. He’d never thought himself capable of it. But Emori was different. She saw all his scars and she loved him anyways. She listened as he told the story of how his parents died and kissed the tears off his cheeks.

In turn, he made sure to hold her left hand, to kiss it whenever he could, to make sure that she knew that he didn’t care about it. That he thought it made her more beautiful.

He hoped she knew.

 

“John!” Emori called. “I’m home!”

“You don’t live here!” he called back, smirking at her from the couch. She rolled her eyes at him and flopped down next to him, automatically fitting herself into his side.

“What are we doing today?” she asked. Murphy shrugged, fiddling with the packet of weed in his lap.

“My dealer’s being skittish, so the cops are probably closing in on him. I’m thinking that we maybe just lay low today.”

Emori pouted, tangling their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” Murphy said, laughing a little at her expression. “But we can’t risk doing anything like we did last week if the cops are close by. Sooner or later my dealer is going to realize that we’re working for the cops and that can’t happen.”

“I guess you’re right,” Emori sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I was just hoping to do something fun.”

“Pretending to be ridiculously high is pretty fun,” Murphy laughed. “And it pays well.”

“Do the cops know you keep some of the weed?”

“They probably suspect but I don’t think they care enough. It’s one guy taking a tiny amount of weed. They’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Emori sighed again and plucked the bag out of his hands, examining the leaves inside.

“All this fighting over some plants,” she said. “Seems kind of ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

Murphy shrugged.

“Getting high off them is kind of nice.”

“You have a point.”

She shifted so that her head was resting on his leg and draped her legs over the arm of the couch. Murphy grabbed her left hand and lifted it to his mouth.

“You know,” he said, smiling against her knuckles. “Since we aren’t stealing from drug dealers today, we have plenty of free time for… other things.”

Emori smirked.

“Wow, John. It’s been a whole four months and you’re still thirsty.”

“For you? Always.”

She laughed and turned her face into his stomach, the sound vibrating through Murphy’s body. He fingered the collar of her jacket, smoothing the worn leather. She shrugged it off and tossed it to the side, leaving her in a tank top and ripped jeans. She’d taken off her combat boots when she entered the apartment because Murphy’s downstairs neighbor was a pain in the ass about the noise the heavy boots made when Emori walked in the apartment.

Murphy ran his fingers through her hair, combing out the dark brown strands, and waited for her to sit up. She finally did, sliding into his lap and tangling her fingers in his hair as her lips met his. To Murphy, it was perfect.

He found more freckles on her back as he laid behind her that night, drawing constellations with his fingers. She fell asleep within fifteen minutes of him starting this. He propped himself up on his elbow to watch her sleep. A few strands of hair had fallen into her face and were stirred about by her breathing. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, draping one arm over her waist to pull her closer.

He wasn’t sure how it could have ever been better.


End file.
